The Raven and the Hog
The Raven and the Hog is a semi-rare elven text that can be found at some libraries in Adaria and Mercia. The author is unknown. Body: Now bear in mind this was a long time ago my friend, it must have been well over 30 years. We had been in the forgotten forests for weeks, prepped for a very important ambush on a high profile target. Our unit was waiting on a messenger to give us our orders but none ever showed. So we just sat, and waited for our prey. Life was a little kinder to me because I was a scout, tasked with surveying the terrain and tracking down any potential threats to our mission. I was allowed to roam the land instead of spending my days in a traphole or a tree. Almost every waking hour of mine was spent foraging for food, following tracks, or patrolling the same routes to no avail. At the end of the forest where we were camped there was a small riverside manor owned by a pig of a man, but you shall hear of him later. My established patrol routes would often take me near this manor, it was the only bit of civilization I saw during these times. Every day from the rear entrance emerged a human woman who looked barely of age. She would head towards the river, and return with two buckets of water slung over her shoulder in the manner of a peasant. This peaked my curiosity, and although such risky behavior could get me locked in a cell for desertion, I decided to tail her one day. The first thing i noticed about her was a severe lack of coordination. She moved very slowly with a slight limp through the brush and down the hillside, unsure of each step. Something seemed off with her demeanor, so i followed further. After what seemed like an eternity we came to the river. She took her buckets and filled them with water, as expected. However, when she turned around I noticed the endless whites of her eyes. It made sense to me now, this woman was blind! Why was she tasked with carrying this water every day? Her limp looked like it was worsening from the trip. She tried to make it up the hill but slipped. Again and again, she would repeat the fall, becoming dirtier and more bruised every time. Eventually she gave up and just laid down, beginning to sob. I mean it when i tell you this: every single bit of my training tore at me from the inside, telling me that this wasn't my business, that I should continue on the patrol while I was still ahead, but something told me I needed to lend a helping hand. I approached her, and she was understandably frightened at first. I noticed bruises on her body, and marks across her face. It was clear she didn't have the pampered home life you would expect from someone who lived in such a house. I lied to her at first. Told her I was just a simple Elven fisherman out for some good catch. She believed me, but there was still distrust in her voice. She refilled her water buckets and I told her to climb onto my back. She told me to take care not to let anyone see, for she would surely get into trouble for this. It took much effort, but i managed to get her safely to the top. I dropped her off, and swiftly left without saying goodbye. This became a daily routine. She would come down to the river, and I would carefully carry her on my back all the way to the top, making sure to avoid being seen by anybody, and I would be on my way. I could feel my strength grow after every trip I made and before long it became effortless. Naturally, we started conversing. We became comfortable with each other over time. I told her who I really was, and the nature of my visits. She told me of her father, I don't remember his name anymore, but he was the wealthiest man of Harken village, a nearby town. She had once known a local farmers boy, who by her description was quite handsome, but it cost her her sight. Her father didn't like the idea of her lying with someone so lowly, so he blinded her as to remove her temptations towards any man he didn't see fit. He didn't think this through, and now no man in Harken wanted the once prized girl. Her father made her go down to the river every day and fetch water to remind her of her place. He would beat her at his will for whatever transgressions he could come up with at the time. The thought of him taking advantage of such dependence made my stomach turn. Weeks went by, with still no messenger, and our target had not shown. I had learned her name now, and she had learned mine. Her name was Helgah, and by this point, I had known her. I laid with her every day before I carried her up the hill. I selfishly wished that the messenger would never show, and that our unit would be stuck in that forest forever. Then one day she never showed up. I carefully made my way up the hill and through the trails to the manor. As i approached, a caravan made its way through the front gate. I laid down in the bushes, putting every bit of my skill in stealth to use. In the distance I could see armed men carry her out and throw her in the back of a wagon. Her father was trailing behind calling her a whore among other obscenities and screaming something about "the deserts to the east". Even my keen Elven ears couldn't make out anything more. She was locked away, and the armed caravan left as the fat bastard lay some coin into the what looked to be an officer's hand. I never saw her again. It was the first time I had ever known this feeling of devastation. I abandoned my patrol for the day. I waited until nightfall. It began to rain heavily, wind blowing the trees side to side. I did not care. I laid in wait for my prey, just like my brothers in the forest. I moved on the house. There were two guards in the first room, and they saw my dance. They saw my dance of steel as I twirled my blades, shoving one through a guards abdomen, running the other across a guards throat. I tore through the house, dancing beautifully, as guard after guard fell. The clink of their swords hitting the ground was melody to my ears, the crackle of the firelamps rhythm. Their blood painted the walls a crimson shade, and I took a moment to admire my work. At the top of the manor was the master bedroom. The fat bastard had managed to sleep through all the commotion. I walked over and clasped my hands on his face, suffocating him. I stared him in the eyes as he struggled all the way to the end. I had killed many before, but not like this. The deed was done. Simple. It was so simple and quiet. I didn't feel the relief i thought i would. I flew back down the stairs and told his wife and the maids to flee to Harken if they valued their lives, and with some oil from the cellar I set the place ablaze. As I left down the hill and across the river back to my campsite, the fire burned beautifully. Smoke filled the air, and the flames danced with the same ferocity I had danced with inside the house. I thought to myself that it made an excellent addition to the storm, and wished I had a canvas to paint the scenery so i could capture the moment forever. It was then I decided to abandon the unit. It was then I knew what was truly worth killing for.